by Lindsey Hart
“And you could do three hundred. You used to practice in your bedroom. Make me count for you.”
“Yeah, well… push-ups and stretches too. I liked to be prepared.”
“No one prepared for the fitness test. Besides, you couldn’t run worth shit. I always beat you there. Like lapped you. Twice.”
“Shut up.” She scrubbed at her forehead one last time before she flailed out blindly with the cloth. “Rinse this off. It’s not doing much except smearing this crap around now.”
“Yes, master.”
“Stop it.”
“Sorry.” He didn’t sound sorry at all. “You know, I hate whipped cream… but-”
And then… and then the bastard leaned in. She felt his breath like a hot wave against the cold whipped cream right before he licked her.
Licked her.
With his tongue. His hot tongue. He trailed it in a broad sweep from her cheek down to her chin. She heard him lick his lips and swallow and something violent, a storm of angry bees or something, attacked her insides.
“It’s better than I remember it being.”
Sydney froze. She shut down, too shocked to react. Too shocked to swipe out blindly and smack Jesse’s face like she should have. She still couldn’t see and the fact that she could smack something else by accident, forced her to keep her hands to herself. She couldn’t come back with something snappy either, so she pressed her lips tight together.
Which was a good thing, because Jesse leaned in again, so close that she could smell his dark, spicy scent straight through the whipped cream lodged up her nostrils. And he didn’t lick her cheek or her chin.
He went straight for her lips.
Like he wanted to kiss her until they were both out of air.
His fingers tangled in her hair, angling her head back so that a tingle burst over her scalp. It was nothing compared to the shivery heat pooling in her insides and that attack of the angry bees stinging her all over her body. A volley of goosebumps erupted over her skin and then she stopped thinking about her body’s reaction because, shit, Jesse was kissing her, and it was… god, it was fantastic. Amazing. Mind-blowing.
She couldn’t find the strength to push him away, so instead, she leaned into him and made a whimpering sound in the back of her throat that she couldn’t stop from happening. He growled in response and nipped at her bottom lip, setting her skin on fire just like all that food he used to burn because he was seriously a horrible cook.
“You taste so fucking sweet,” he groans against my lips.
“That’s the whipped cream,” she protested breathlessly.
“Nope. That’s all you. Whipped cream doesn’t taste like honey, but you do.”
He ran his tongue across her bottom lip, as if to prove his point, and hello butterflies. They weren’t nice butterflies, though. They were as mean as those bees, filling up her stomach, crashing through her chest in a fluttering flurry that left her gasping for breath.
“You- you shouldn’t be kissing me,” she panted as Jesse trailed his tongue over her top lip, nice and slow, dragging it there, long and slow and pronounced. God, she was on the brink of becoming delirious.
“No?” It sounded more like a question than a statement. “Maybe not. But I like it. And you like it too.”
“I- I don’t,” she protested.
“Maybe you like it better when I nip you then.” He sucked her bottom lip into his mouth, scraping his teeth over it, and she mewled, leaning into it because she couldn’t stop herself. Everything he was doing felt so good, and it had been a hell of a long time.
“Maybe you like it when I stroke your tongue with mine.” He did, underscoring his words by busting through the seam of her lips when they parted, finding hers, and stroking it in long, scalding thrusts that made her see stars because she imagined those strokes lower.
Her body ached, her nether regions doing a traitorous happy dance that she should not have been okay with. She wasn’t okay with it. She wasn’t. She kept telling herself that, but she didn’t exactly believe it. It was pretty hard to when her va-jay was currently throbbing and she could smell herself- yes, scent herself.
Or maybe that was him. Because she could definitely smell his dusky, manly scent rising up all around her, and god, it was hot.
She broke the kiss, panting, one hand flailing blindly to plant itself in the center of his chest and push him back a step.
“We have good body chemistry, Syd, admit it.”
“So what?” she ground out. “We might have good chemistry. That doesn’t mean anything. That’s not enough.”
“Maybe not, but it’s a start.”
He left her sitting there, breathless on the barstool, unable to see anything and still unable to move and stumble away. She was almost willing to flee to the front door and take her chances with the media scrum probably still outside. She’d live in a cave for the rest of her life if she had to, to avoid the tabloid rages that branded her a heartless hussy. Yeah. Even if Jesse made good on his threats to ruin her life, it would probably still be better than taking her chances with him in here.
Before she could think further though, he was back with the cloth. He’d rinsed it out and it was warm and reassuring when it hit her skin. God, it felt like heaven. She was tired. Still a little hungover. Her insides were a mess, and honestly, she was getting tired of fighting herself. She had her walls up, big time, but those walls were rapidly crumbling, broken down like they were the first time by a few illicit kisses.
He wiped away the whipped cream in slow, soft passes, so gentle that it made her want to cry, for some incredibly stupid reason. His hand at the back of her neck, strong, solid, burning right through her, all that heat going to some very inappropriate places- namely her nipples and between her thighs- made her want to cry too.
He massaged the cloth in slow circles, wiping gently like he was afraid of hurting her. She wanted to snap that she wasn’t going to break, but then he left, and she found herself leaning forward on the stool, trying to capture the last vestiges of his body heat.
After rinsing out the cloth, he was back. This time, he had a pot or a bowl of water, because he dipped the cloth in and there was a splashy sound directly to her left. His hand was back at her neck, strangely protective, intimate, so large and warm that she couldn’t stop the sigh before it escaped her lips.
“Why do you keep fighting this, Syd? I know that the last time wasn’t a mistake. I know you were scared. I just don’t know why. I would never have hurt you. I never would. You’ve known me your whole life. At least… you did. What was there about me that was so terrible you had to leave for ten years and never look back?”
Sydney was glad that her eyes were closed because the storm brewing behind them was hot and furious and keeping them pressed tightly shut helped contain the flurry of tears that wanted to escape.
A lump clogged up her throat so that when she tried to speak past it, she couldn’t get any words out. She had to press her lips tightly together to keep the sobs inside that threatened to bust out. How could he not know? You’re a thousand times too good for me. I’ll only hurt you.
She was tired. So tired of fighting, so tired of running, so tired of everything. So tired of pretending, of telling herself that it was a mistake. That she felt nothing. That it could never work. She was just so tired.
So instead of leaning away from the soft strokes of that washcloth, she leaned into them. Into the capable hand steadying her at the back of her neck, into the one wiping away all that stupid whipped cream.
Finally, finally, he ran the cloth over her eyes. He had another towel, something fluffy and dry, that he used to dry her face off.
“There.” He stepped back and she found herself missing his warmth again.
She opened her eyes slowly, tentatively, and blinked.
She had to blink again because Jesse was sitting there, on the barstool right beside her.
Looking at her like she was everything.
B
eautiful. Adorable. Strong. Amazing. A goddess. Looking at her with complete and utter adoration. And it broke what little resistance she had left because she knew that she was none of those things.
She leaned forward, nearly falling off the barstool, but he met her halfway, his strong arms closing around her shoulders, tugging her into the hard wall of his chest. Her hands splayed over his dress shirt, her fingers digging into the hard muscle below. He was so different. He definitely worked out, because even in college, his shoulders weren’t so broad, his pecs so hard, his abs, his arms… the list went on. She’d loved his body. Always. He was perfect for her. He wasn’t just her best friend. He was the only man in the world that she’d ever truly wanted. Like, not just wanted on a physical level, but on a mental, emotional- god, even on a spiritual level.
Because that’s what it was when his lips met hers. Gentle. Crushing. Searching. Bruising. Frantic. All-consuming. It felt like her spirit, her soul, her inner essence- whatever it was- it felt like it was all tangled up with his. She’d always felt like that. Always.
He might look different. He might feel different. He might have the crazy masculine body of a guy who’d grown up, fully, who worked out and took care of himself, the body of a sex god, but he was still the same dorky kid she knew and loved. Deep down in there, he was still Jesse and he’d always been so perfect.
It broke her.
Being in his arms- it felt like coming home.
It was dangerous. He was dangerous. He was everything he knew she couldn’t fight and she was so tired. So tired of fighting. Just- so completely exhausted, so when his arms wrapped her up and he carted her up easily against his chest, cradling her legs and letting her throw her arms around his neck, when he carried her easily through the kitchen, down an impossibly long hall, and into a bedroom that was even more extravagant than the shower had been, with a huge king bed, ornate furniture, tiled floors, and fancy-ass lighting, she didn’t fight.
She didn’t even fight back when he set her down on the bed and told some robotic assistant to dim the lights.
She didn’t tell him that mood lighting was for pussies and that this wasn’t romantic, and it wasn’t going to happen, because them and romance didn’t mingle. She didn’t tell him that she had no plans on giving in to his stupid seduction and that it was all bribery what he was doing and that she was going to walk out that door, flip him the bird, and be done with him.
She didn’t say any of those things and she didn’t move.
She fought for an ounce of better judgment, for even a small shred of resistance, and came up empty. She tried to reassemble her walls, to count all the reasons that being in Jesse’s bedroom with him, alone, was a bad idea, but all she could find inside of her heart was the yawning, gaping hole that leaving him behind created. Seeing him again, being so close to him, all of it- it ripped open that hole until it was aching and bleeding, a hole that only he could stitch back up, even if he shredded her in the process.
So no, she couldn’t find a single insult to throw at him. She couldn’t force herself not to want him. To want everything she’d denied herself for the better part of her life. She couldn’t make her tongue respond to the words she wanted it to form.
Because there was no way she actually wanted to tell him to stop.
Not even when he stood in front of her and started to unbutton his shirt.
CHAPTER 13
Jesse
It shouldn’t be this easy.
He kept thinking it the entire time he carried Syd down the hall to his room. When he set her on the bed. When he dimmed the lights and started to work the buttons on his shirt loose.
He took his time when what he really wanted to do was tear the stupid shirt off in a superhuman like move, rain down buttons all over the floor, and shed the tattered fabric. He purposely slowed his fingers as he locked eyes with Syd, giving her time to change her mind.
Just because she stared back at him with big, doe-like eyes, heavy-lidded eyes with the pupils completely blown, didn’t mean that she was going to let him win. Just because she wasn’t fighting back didn’t mean that all the fight was gone out of her. She could just as easily kick him in the face when he bent down to strip off her sweats as she smiled up at him invitingly.
Because this was Syd. She was full of surprises. Full of spirit. Full of piss and vinegar. This was the girl who could outwrestle any guy in high school, who wasn’t afraid of getting dirty, who went with a group of guys to the gravel pits out of town and jumped Jason Patrick’s stupid quad while all the guys, including him, watched on, astounded. This was the girl who used to do funny impressions with her voice of all the teachers she didn’t like, sometimes right behind their backs in class, in lowered tones. This was the girl who almost set the science lab on fire because she was too busy farting around with chemicals to actually worry about being safe. This was Syd. Syd who always jumped off the tall diving board. Syd, who laughed at the scary scenes in horror movies. Syd who wasn’t afraid of the dark. Syd who’d stand outside in the rain like she didn’t give a shit she was getting wet. Syd who raised her head and stared life down, who flipped it the double bird when she didn’t agree with it.
Syd didn’t just admit defeat.
So, either she wanted this, or she was luring him in for a swift kick in the balls.
He slowly stripped off his shirt, waiting for her to jump off the bed, stick out her tongue, and tell him to go fuck himself. He slowly worked his pants off, leaving his boxers on, because he liked his baby makers too much to chance flashing them and shocking her out of the stupor she appeared to be in. He didn’t want her to rear up and plant her heel right between his legs. That would seriously hinder his mother’s hopes for a grandchild and while he didn’t want to indulge her any time soon, he also liked leaving that possibility open.
His pants hit the floor and Syd just- just laid there. Staring up at him, her eyes glistening, shining with heat and hunger, her lips parted, little raspy breaths escaping their lush fullness.
She wasn’t drunk.
She didn’t have any excuses to want him.
Jesse tensed, waiting. Waiting for her to give him a sign because the way she was acting… it wasn’t like Syd at all. It confused the hell out of him.
Slowly, so very slowly, she shifted on the bed, letting her legs fall open.
And fuck. He was thirty-two years old and he’d been waiting his entire life for this. For that invitation. It was worse because he’d been haunted by the memories of the night they’d spent together, for the past ten years.
Something in his brain short-circuited and he just- lost it.
As sexy as his sweats were on Syd, they’d be sexier off.
She seemed to think so too, because when he curled his hands into the fabric pooling at her ankles and tugged, she lifted her hips off the bed, her hands flying down frantically to help him. She clawed at them the same time he did, and between the two of them, he managed to tug and she managed to kick and writhe and finally, those bastard sweats ended up on the floor in a crumpled heap right next to his clothes.
Right where they belonged.
He stared down at Sydney and he had to force a hard swallow because his throat had suddenly closed up at the sight of her shapely, creamy legs on full display. Syd was more of a pants-wearing girl. She hated skirts and dresses and even shorts. She rarely wore anything that showed her legs. She’d once said it was because she hated bug bites, itching herself raw all summer, and he’d believed her.
After staring at her legs, though, he decided it was a crime. Bugs should be outlawed, banned from their state, because Syd’s legs, they were meant to be on display. Long and shapely, slender and full in all the right places. They were athletic legs, thicker calves that curled sweetly around her shin bones and bunched higher up. He wanted to run his tongue there, to lift her leg and taste her behind her knees, up, up over her creamy thighs.
He was so damn hard that his tight boxers were a tent they could both frea
king camp out in. And when his eyes continued up the rest of the way, to her yellow cotton panties- he was done. Moisture flooded his mouth, a sharp spurt over his tongue like he was about to open a bag of salt and vinegar chips. Except she wasn’t chips. God, she was so much better. And those panties… they were light, so light around the edges, but in the center, they were a darker hue, where her wetness had soaked them.
All the wetness disappeared from his mouth and it suddenly went bone dry.
“Those panties are a sin,” he managed to grind out.
A line creased on Syd’s perfect forehead. “Yeah? Because they’re not your brand?”
“Hell no. Because they’re still on.” He shook his head so hard it felt like it was going to break off his neck. She smiled up at him, a lazy smile that spread over her lips that let him know she knew damn well what she was doing to him.
Or- or maybe she didn’t. Because behind the natural confidence in that smile, there was a shadow of something else. Fear? Regret?
“I- we can… we don’t have to-”
Her eyes darkened and she blinked slowly, lazily.
If he was suddenly struck down five minutes from now, he was going to die a happy man, because Syd, who never tore her eyes from his face, hooked her fingers into the waistband of those panties and slowly slid them down her legs. She shifted and wriggled in ways that shouldn’t have been sexy, but were completely steaming hot, and threw them on the floor.
Damn. She’d changed things up a bit since college.
She was completely bare, perfectly proportioned, and glistening wet for him.
It wasn’t just that night that haunted him. It was all the details he couldn’t erase from his mind. Her scent. Her taste. The feel of her clenching right around his cock.
God. He had to put the brakes on the deluge of mental images, or he was going to have some premature issues going on south of the belt.